


a good morning

by butongooddays



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-21 00:00:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4807238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butongooddays/pseuds/butongooddays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Back home, September spelled the end of summer; in Fort Lauderdale, the only time a hot breakfast feels good outdoors is like this, in the shade and buffeted by a coastal breeze.</p><p>Footsteps thud hollowly toward him on the dock. A brief pause, and then a broad hand is resting on Aaron's shoulder. "Thanks for the coffee," Willie says. "Mind if I sit?"</p><p>"Go for it," Aaron says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a good morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fouronforeplay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fouronforeplay/gifts).



> the house in this story is based on a conglomeration of joe eichler houses, but especially [this one](http://www.coastalliving.com/homes/decorating/sky-smiles) and [this one](http://www.houzz.com/ideabooks/384903/list/houzz-tour-restored-eichler-on-the-waterfront).

Every room in the house faces west, looking out on the canal. The place is small for the neighborhood, but that's what put it within Willie and Megan's budget. "Come on, we've got four bedrooms," Willie said, when he made the offer. "Plenty of room for you, Eks."

Aaron's bedroom is all the way at end of the hallway, so he has transom windows over his headboard and sliding glass doors beyond his feet with a nice view of the parked jet ski and the dock. The sun comes in from overhead to wake him early during the summer, so he's usually the one up to make coffee when he sleeps in his own bed.

The sun hasn't hit the canal yet when Aaron steps into the kitchen; the light is only just reaching the far edge of the yard on the other side of the water. He stifles a yawn with the back of his hand. Willie likes to tease Aaron about his wakefulness, the way he's late to bed and early to rise, but it's just the way he's wired. An hour or two of solitary time is his anchor on each end of the day. He opens a fresh bag of the Guatemalan coffee that Willie likes and measures them out for a trip through the space-age grinder Megan got them for Christmas. Fills up the pot with water, dumps it into reservoir. Grabs a filter from the cabinet. Then everything's ready to go.

While the coffee percolates, Aaron throws a pair of ham and cheese Hot Pockets in the microwave. There are only so many things he's capable of before caffeine actually enters his body. Plus, Hot Pockets are portable and easy to eat. They are the perfect food. And Megan is not awake, so it doesn't matter if she disagrees.

Aaron takes a cup of coffee and his Hot Pockets out to the dock to eat, his feet dangling over the shallow waves that ripple through the canal. The actual fisherman are already out in the Atlantic, but none of the people in these multi-million-dollar homes are clamoring to race the sun on its rise and churn the water behind them. A dribble of warm cheese runs down Aaron's chin; he wipes it off with the back of his hand, then scrapes his hand clean against a piling. Back home, September spelled the end of summer; in Fort Lauderdale, the only time a hot breakfast feels good outdoors is like this, in the shade and buffeted by a coastal breeze.

Footsteps thud hollowly toward him on the dock. A brief pause, and then a broad hand is resting on Aaron's shoulder. "Thanks for the coffee," Willie says. "Mind if I sit?"

"Go for it," Aaron says.

Willie settles next to him, close enough that their arms brush when Willie lifts his insulated travel mug to drink. He's a practical guy. Something about the way Willie's fingers wrap around the brushed metal makes Aaron feel warm inside, too. He's too tall to lean his head against Willie's shoulder the way Megan does, but Aaron puts his hand between them, palm spread flat over the boards and pinky just brushing Willie's thigh. Willie's still in his boxers and a faded Clarkson shirt that's survived cross-continent moves with only a few holes to show for it. 

Megan is the last to wander outside, coffee in hand, dressed in leggings and a bright athletic tank. She folds her legs like a lotus when she sits, leaning back against the cheese-free piling on Willie's other side. "Fishing today?"

"Looks like," Willie says, eyeing the clear horizon. "The weather's good."

She nods. "Bring back something good, I've got a sauv blanc I want to open."

"Some for me?" Aaron says.

"As long as you keep it off Instagram," Megan says. "And save it for dinner. I need my sous chef at full capacity."

Aaron rolls his eyes. "Yes, ma'am."

A few houses down, someone revs an engine once, twice, and third time before it sputters and kicks into action. Lou coasts by them on her speedboat a minute later with an exuberant wave; she's a Florida native, skin creased by years of beachside tanning, hair bleached by the sun. Her wife is a big Panthers fan. Sometimes Aaron runs into her with Willie at the taqueria they like, the one that's just the right distance for biking. "See you at yoga!" Megan shouts in her wake.

Willie puts his hand on the small of Aaron's back, just above the hem of his t-shirt. He does that a lot: less in public, when he wants to be friendly and reassuring, than in private, where the same sentiments take on a different meaning. Megan's touches are more purposeful, at Aaron's elbow when she needs jar opened or few inches of extra height, at his hips while they bake together. She moves him and Willie both around like a chess pieces on a board. At first, Aaron was shy and Willie was wary, but Megan was certain of all of three of them, trusting that they'd work it out the same way she trusts them to make her coffee.

"So, yoga," Willie says to Megan. "Fish. Sauvignon blanc. What's after? We could get ice cream in town, if you want."

"One vote for ice cream." Aaron raises his hand.

"Not unless you want to DD for that," Megan says. "I could pick some up while I'm out?"

Aaron says, "Or we could make some," just to see her face brighten.

Willie pats Aaron's back. "I'm in."

They stay out long enough to watch the sky overhead brighten, and then Willie herds them inside. The cool air is a shock after the sultry heat outside, where the temperature rose so slowly that Aaron doesn't even feel warm until he steps indoors. Megan adjusts the hanging blinds behind them before she pulls Aaron close enough for a kiss. Willie is right there after her, his morning stubble scraping against Aaron's. "There," Willie says. "That's a proper good morning."


End file.
